Aestheticising blood and gore,
We glorify the worst of war.
With words like honour, duty, pride,
Romanticising winning sides,
We moralise the quest of war.
Such art in peaceful times is cast
As propaganda meant to last,
At least, under our mind’s radar,
Recruiting hearts from near and far,
Before a war compels a draft.
Is there a peace to end all peace?
So, focus is defined “neglect”?
To take something in front of you
And make of it a ‘something new’
Requires you ignore the cues
Demanding you dilute your view –
Especially the ones you love.
Neglect is just refined abuse:
To leave someone in want of you,
To leave them pining, guessing who
Will wake to them today, the you
Who sees in them your God, or you
Who doesn’t even look at them.
Because I write so fluently
I often do not write so well.
I let redundant words abound,
Forget to tweak for how it sounds,
Forget to prune my sentences
To their digestible essense.
I write without a clear thought
And hide behind vocab a lot.
I write with more authority
The lesser I have clarity.
Some days I do it even worse:
Forget the form and write in verse.
“Guo-guo-guo,” she goes.
The grasshopper of Ho Yan’s prose.
“Guo-guo-guo,” she goes.
She finds herself two country boys,
Who look to nature for their toys.
She asks, “Guo-guo-guo?”
Towards the sky the brothers show.
She nods as if they know she knows.
“Guo-guo-guo,” she goes.
The elder shushes younger’s lips,
And offers ‘hopper turnip chips.
Before she knows, the trap is set.
The elder wins his country bet.
Between her twitching body’s throes,
“Guo-guo-guo?” she goes.
He says the roots that form the trap
Had fallen into younger’s lap.
Before they’d thought of eating those,
They’d heard some distant guo-guos.
The younger bet his bloodied nose,
“Cicada’s crying out her woes.”
The elder tutted, “Ho Yan’s prose.
Where Jasmine buds a single rose.
It must be ‘hopper, listen close.
Guo-guo-guo, she goes.”
The country boys then hear a croak.
The younger tells a Ho Yan joke.
The ‘hopper dangles upside down.
She’s heard of Ho Yan’s frog’s renown.
If there be frogs, there will be dragons.
And dragons steal from country wagons –
They spare the cattle, take the boys.
So thinking, ‘hopper’s hearts rejoice.
And when the jaws of Ho Yan close,
“Guo-guo-guo,” she goes.
I used to own a crispy key
In shape of childhood memory.
I cannot find it anymore.
Perhaps, I ate is long before
The attic shut and gathered damp.
Perhaps, I stamped it on the ramp,
On which the doggies chased my friend
Until she turned and put an end:
Assertively, she threatened, “No,”
And watched the doggies’ fashion show.
Perhaps, it has an elephant’s trunk
To bathe on days of college bunk.
Perhaps, it’s not a crispy key,
But just a warped reality,
Like memories are bound to be.
I’m stressed I haven’t done my work.
I’m caught in catching up with it.
I’m working over dinner plate.
I’m trying to get done with it.
I’m irritated that you speak.
I’m irked that you are calling me.
I’m sure you are the reason why
I’m so behind delivery.
I’m not your little kid, okay?
I’m vexed you look concerned for me.
I’m in control, yes, on my own.
I’m done with all your sympathy.
I’m quick to focus all the rage
I’m storing up inside of me.
I’m quick to say I feel ashamed
I’m born into this family.
Not every ball is meant for six.
You better know your batting strengths.
You better know which ones to leave.
You better know your straight defence.
Particularly if it’s Life
Who’s bowling on a turning pitch.
Do not step out your hasty crease
When keeper Karma’s being a bitch.
Do not present the naked edge.
Do not pursue the obvious wide.
Remember, every run you score
Is first and foremost for your side.
It simply wasn’t meant to be.
Two hours too many in the end.
I gently shrouded every line
With blackened brushtipped sketching pen.
Obsessing over sterile words,
I’d wrapped my worth around the verse.
I should have let it go before.
Before it went from bad to worse.
It simply wasn’t meant to be.
It can’t be forced and still be good.
It has to come emerging, free.
It has to feel it’s understood.
I could have said it calmly too?
And what has happened every time
I’ve said my No with twilight calm?
You’ve pressed me harder, haggled on,
As if my No’s not No enough
Until it’s said with thunder clouds.
I tell you I will open up
A little later on my own
But every second day you ask,
What happened? Won’t you share with me?
I’ll tell you someday. Leave me be.
Do NOT infringe my privacy.
Minakhi Misra 